


Better Homes and Murders

by Deejaymil



Category: Better Homes and Gardens (Australia TV), Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Career, Crack, Crack Crossover, Flowers saving lives, Gen, Home Improvement, Humour, Insanity, It's getting rather silly in here, Reid sucks at his job, Rossi doing obscene things with a stick of asparagus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 11:29:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6236881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deejaymil/pseuds/Deejaymil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kevin Lynch never wanted to be an accountant. He had dreams of being a computer technician. But see how that worked out; now he's stuck following up on budgeting discrepancies at the worst Home Improvement show ever, and he's pretty sure the entire crew are serial killers.</p><p>This is fast becoming the worst day of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Homes and Murders

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ArabellaTried](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArabellaTried/gifts).



> Crossover with the Australian home improvement show, Better Homes and Gardens. Apparently AO3 doesn't have any other fics for that fandom SO MINE IS THE FIRST, HUZZAH. This is ridiculous. Like... it's almost level with the ridiculousness of Nerds and the Lonely Dead. So, be warned for complete cracky silliness.

Aaron Hotchner was the kind of man who made other men feel uneasy. Maybe it was his piercing eyes, so sharp and focused that they almost felt like they could see _through_ him, or maybe it was the way his face seemed carved from stone. The only sign of emotion was the slightest flicker of muscles around his mouth or eyes, almost requiring a mind-reader to understand, and Kevin Lynch was no mind reader, no sirie!

Basically, he was the kind of man who made Kevin’s job really bloody difficult.

“I understand that you have a job to do,” Kevin stammered, gripping his clipboard like a shield against the other man’s fixed regard. “But I have a job to do as well—a very important job; a job that is _integral_ to the continued functioning—”

“The budgets?” someone asked, their voice derisive. Kevin turned and almost groaned as he found himself face to face with the muscle of the unit, Derek Morgan. All six foot of glistening muscles and chiselled jawline. Kevin unobtrusively sucked his gut in and squared his shoulders. “Man, you’re an _accountant_. Do you have any idea of the _importance_ of what we do here?”

“Err.” Kevin scanned his clipboard. “You do the DIY segment, yes? And Mr. Hotchner, you do… flowers?”

“Flowers,” Hotch said calmly, his face barely twitching. “Are not to be underestimated, Kevin. What we do here saves lives.”

There was a wail and a clattering of boxes to the right of the set. Heads swung around just in time to see two Labrador puppies sending an array of expensive camera equipment flying as they made a bid for freedom, leashes dangling from their necks and dragging props behind. Cameramen yelled, someone shrieked, and a tall, gangly man with a long purple scarf and a frantic expression bounded after them.

“Wait, no!” he yelped, somehow managing to make it look like he was in the process of falling over while never actually doing so. “Sit, err… heel! Down! JJ, help!”

Kevin’s clipboard shook. Those cameras were _expensive_. “Who is that?” he wailed, pen leaving a wobbly line down the page as he searched for the line that said ‘electrical equipment’ and made a note to himself. “Where is the animal technician?”

“He _is_ the animal technician,” Morgan said, grinning. “He does the pet segment. Dr. Spencer Reid. He’s a genius at… everything but animals, actually.” A yelp punctuated his sentence as the hapless Dr. Reid was bitten by one of the puppies, finally hitting the ground as it grabbed his scarf and took off with it. “We had to replace the last guy in a hurry. Someone left him in a room alone with Rossi and well... he was gone an hour later. Gideon was not pleased.”

 _Jason Gideon._ There was the man Kevin needed to see.

“Can you take me to him?” he asked, trying not to look at the puppies as they dragged a boom mic down and almost clobbered an extra right into a lawsuit.

The Building Adornment Unit was out of control, and it was Kevin’s job to fix it.

 

* * *

 

“I need to ask—your animal technician,” Kevin began, chasing Gideon around as the director strode about the set with a strangely vacant expression.

“Look at this, what is this,” the man said, stopping and bending over to examine a jumble of potted plants. “Hemlock. Beautiful. Examine these flowers – wonderful, aren’t they?” He looked up at Kevin expectantly. Kevin sighed and leaned over to sniff the white blooms.

“Lovely,” Kevin muttered. “Now, the pet segment…”

“Hemlock,” Gideon continued, closing his eyes and smiling beatifically. “Ah, hemlock. A deadly poison, of course.”

Kevin jerked his hand away from the flowers.

Gideon continued as though nothing had happened. “Most famously used to administer death to the Greek philosopher, Socrates, for the crime of impiety in 399BC. A terrible death.” His smile vanished, turning mournful. “Tragic, indeed. What were you asking about Dr. Reid?”

Kevin stared at the plant, and inched backwards. “Err, should you be… showing those? I mean, we’re in the seven-p.m. slot. Children will be watching. Conservatives. The _elderly_.”

The hairs on the back of his neck standing on end were the only warning of the looming presence behind him. Hotch’s voice was intense, when it came. “They need to know,” he said sternly. “Or would you rather the dangers of the world were kept from them until too late?”

Blinking, Kevin looked from him to the calm face of Gideon, trying to work out if he was hallucinating. Maybe he’d inhaled flower… vapours, or something. Maybe this was a fever dream. He didn’t want to die an accountant. He’d wanted to be a computer technician. This is what he got for listening to his gram… killed by flowers holding a clipboard at the set of a failing home improvement show.

“Um…” he said, lost for words.

“Dr. Reid is my recruit,” Gideon said, as though Hotch hadn’t spoken. “He’s brilliant. Top of his field.”

“What exactly _is_ his field?” Kevin asked, because the guy didn’t look like he knew which end of a dog was which, and seemed terrified of them both equally.

Gideon waved a hand, eyes turning vacant and distracted again. “Oh, psychology. Maths. Criminology, I believe. Brilliant physicist. He has a variety of degrees.”

“Anything in animal care?” Kevin asked hopefully. “Or um… anything that qualifies him to work here?”

“Nope,” said Gideon cheerfully. “Now, if that clears things up, I must go prepare.”

Hotch nodded. “Makeup in twenty,” he told Gideon. “Grab your bags.”

And they were gone, leaving Kevin standing alone and wildly out of his depth.

 

* * *

 

Penelope Garcia.

Even her name was perfect.

“Hello?” she said, her voice harmonious. She waved fingers that glittered with an array of brightly coloured rings in front of his eyes. “Um… are you okay, sweetie?”

Sweetie. She called him _sweetie_.

He’d never been good at talking to beautiful women.

“Ahhh…” he choked out, feeling his ears burn. He held the clipboard out tentatively. Her face clouded.

“Oh,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Budget time. Ick. Well, I’m Penelope Garcia. Sound and vision. I help with all the fancy post production work.”

Oh. He looked down, found her name on the page over. “Why are you here?” he stammered out, determined to do his job. “I mean… well, everything you do is on the final product. They haven’t even began filming yet.”

Her beaming smile melted his heart. “Of course I’m here!” she said loudly. “Where else would I be? I’m not letting my family shoot without me! I’m moral support.”

It made sense. He’d only talked to Gideon once, and he was pretty sure _he_ needed moral support. “I need to talk to someone about the casting for some of the segments,” he said without looking up from his clipboard, knowing his face was beetroot red. “Do you, um… know who that would be?”

“Well,” she answered, looking around. “JJ should be here somewhere—she’s our Production Manager. She also helps out with the crafts segment, when we have kids on. Emily is lovely, but she doesn’t really… click… with the kiddos. And if you think Spencer is bad with animals, you should see him with children. Wow. Our poor ratings never really recovered from that week…”

“Emily?” he asked weakly.

“Prentiss. She does arts and crafts, and also helps Morgan with DIY. There’s also Rossi but you should probably avoid Rossi without a chaperone. We had to do some staff cuts, so everyone helps out where they can—is there anyone in particular you’d like to talk to more?”

 _You_ , he thought wildly. “Um… JJ?”

 

* * *

 

JJ was holding an armful of squirming puppy in one arm, and in the other she appeared to be trying to soothe the ‘not actually an animal technician’ animal technician.

“They _hate_ me, Jayge,” he was wailing. “Do you know the part of the brain that deals with scent is _forty times_ larger in dogs than in humans? And the human body, when frightened, pumps out a cocktail of scents including adrenaline and sweat—scents that they can pick up. They _know_ I’m scared of them.”

“They’re only little puppies, Spence,” she soothed, levering the tattered remains of the purple scarf out of the dog’s mouth and looping it back around his neck. “This isn’t like last time with the mastiffs, or the time before with the Clydesdales. You can handle puppies.”

“JJ,” the man said, his voice serious. “Remember the turtles? I couldn’t even handle the _turtles_. How am I supposed to handle these?”

“Oh, Reid!” Garcia scolded, swooping in and grabbing the puppy off of JJ and holding it up in the air with its paws dangling. She thrust it at Reid, who backed away like she was offering him the pots of hemlock from earlier. “He can’t hurt you!”

The puppy growled.

Dr. Reid almost fainted.

Kevin decided that maybe he needed to speak to someone else. Maybe this Prentiss woman.

How badly could arts and crafts go, anyway?

 

* * *

 

“Where did you work previously?” Kevin was staring at his clipboard again. Why were all the women here _gorgeous?_ His gaze flickered up and was almost transfixed by the fierce gaze of Emily Prentiss. Her stare could rival Hotchner’s. And, apparently, she didn’t believe in budgets either.

“That’s classified,” she said coolly, and he blinked. What could possibly be classified about _scrapbooking_?

“Um… okay,” he muttered, scribbling out that line. “Ah… what can you tell me about your Director?”

“Gideon?” she asked, looking thoughtful. “He’s the best. He wrote the book on home improvement, back in the 80’s. Why?”

“I’ve been asked to check up on some… discrepancies… in the bookkeeping since his return from leave. He had an um… mental breakdown?”

She frowned. “They don’t call them that anymore,” she corrected, flicking her hair back. “But yes, he took some time off of the business after Boston.” Her eyes closed, her expression almost pained. “We all struggled after Boston.”

“Riiight,” he said. “Can you tell me why your segment’s glitter budget is three grand over in the last six months?”

She shrugged. “Ask Rossi,” was all she’d say, clearly bored by him. She went back to the photo frame she was carefully fixing macaroni to in the rough shape of a… Glock? And were those bullet casings on the corners? “Just be aware, he gets a little… intense about cooking. Okay?”

He nodded and walked away, trying not to let her see his hands shaking.

 

* * *

 

“Cooking is the most sensual art form,” was the first thing David Rossi ever said to him. The second was suggestive enough that Kevin suddenly felt very uncomfortable about the asparagus that the man was holding like a threat. “There are my paints,” the man whispered, stroking the asparagus lovingly.

 _Holy fuck_ , Kevin thought. _Everyone here is fucking insane._ Out loud, he said, “Your segment’s budget…”

“Don't interrupt,” Rossi snapped, before turning back to his stove and gesturing with the asparagus. “In a pot of boiling water, we cook our spaghetti until it's al dente, firm to the tooth. Here you go.” Kevin reluctantly took the stand of spaghetti still hot from the water, careful not to get _too_ close. “See? Feel the texture.” He leaned in closer, his breath tickling Kevin’s cheek. “ _Feel it._ There we go _._ ”

“You’re not going to talk to me about the budget, are you?” Kevin said finally, giving up.

Rossi looked disgusted. “Absolutely not. I need to keep in rhythm, not chatter about unimportant things. You see, it's all about timing and rhythm. And if you don't feel yourself doing it properly, please, order a pizza.” He waved the asparagus. “Haven’t you _passion,_ man? Don’t you know what it is to burn with the desire to do something _properly?_ ”

And suddenly Kevin had a very vivid memory of himself at twelve years old, building his own PC for the first time, clicking all the parts together and pressing the power button for the first time. The hum of the fans as they whirred to life. The smell of the thermal paste on his fingers. His gram telling him that there was no future in computers. His dreams burning like an improperly overclocked budget build.

“I wanted to be a computer analysist,” he whispered, and burst into tears. Rossi switched off the stove and stepped over, placing his hands on Kevin’s shoulders soothingly.

“You have drive and ambition,” he said, shaking Kevin slightly. “Your shirt says you’re analytical, your shoes say professional. You have everything in you to be what you truly want to be, Kevin. Chase your dreams!”

“I will!” shouted Kevin, dropping the clipboard. No more creepy flowers! No more puppies smashing cameras! No more being the laughing stock of the accounting firm where he worked because he got all the jobs no one else wanted!

And he was going to ask Penelope Garcia out on his way out the door!

“Good lad!” Rossi cheered, almost poking Kevin in the ear with the asparagus. “Now go! Go, get out of my sight, shoo now.”

“Right!” Kevin said, and headed for the exit, leaving Rossi to gaze tenderly down at the asparagus.

 

* * *

 

He found the woman who’d hired him arguing with Hotch outside the man’s trailer.  

“I’m just saying, Aaron,” Erin Strauss said tiredly, gesturing to the plants spilling out of their pots next to the door. “You can’t preface your segment with a detailed history of serial murders in the area. And why is every plant you feature deadly? Why can’t you show something _harmless_ for once? Your detailed descriptions of the effects of aconite almost got us taken off air! For god’s sake, children are watching!”

“The public needs to be aware,” Hotch replied, frowning and crossing his arms. “We know what we’re doing, Strauss. With all due respect, you need to let my team do their jobs.”

“Your team!” she cried. “Your team is out of control!”

Hotch’s eyes flashed, the most open sign of emotion Kevin had ever seen from him. The accountant watched, mouth open in shock and awe, as the full force of the man’s personality exerted itself.

“My team?” he boomed. “Let me tell you about my team. Derek Morgan fights to protect the homes of our viewers from evils like salt damp and faulty wiring. Why? Because homes are important, and he’s had very few homes that he can trust. Reid's intellect means he’s rarely challenged by anything, and at the moment he’s finally found something he needs to work to excel at. Prentiss overcompensates because she doesn't yet feel her scrapbooking skills are up to scratch. She needn't worry. Her scrapbooks are the finest I’ve seen.

Every day, JJ fields dozens of requests for our team, and every night she goes home hoping she's made the right choices, saved the right homes. Garcia fills her life with colour and family to remind herself to smile as she slaves over her screens to make this show what it is. And Gideon in many ways is damned by his profound knowledge of flowers, which is why he shares so little of himself, yet he pours his heart into every segment we handle.

You think you know our job? You think your designs are better than ours, the designs we pour our souls into? Let me tell you about your designs. Modern furniture, strategically placed magazines, framed diplomas, art on the wall. You use all these to fill a room, but then conflict them with family photos and _clutter_. The only plants you use are bonsai, plants requiring obsessive nurturing to compensate for your feelings of failure. You regret not spending more time at home, with your family.”

“Aaron Hotchner!” Strauss was red, bristling, shaking. “That is _enough_!”

Hotch didn’t stop. “Of course, you love all your children, but not like your son. How do I know you favour your son? I'm good at my job. And so is my team.”

Strauss stared at him, he stared proudly forward, and Kevin stared at them both. Finally, the woman turned and stormed away without a word.

“Ma’am?” Kevin called out as she strode past, taking a deep breath for calm.

“Yes, Lynch?” she snapped, shooting him an icy glare. Behind her, Hotch relaxed, nodded in his direction, and stepped into his trailer, closing the door behind him.

“I just want you to know,” Kevin began, thinking of Rossi and the fire in his eyes, the passion in Gideon’s face when he looked at the plants, the careful way Prentiss had placed each macaroni piece. Like they all mattered. Like they were all important. “I _quit_. This isn’t what I want. I’m going back to college to follow my dream?”

Strauss stared at him. Then her face clouded furiously. “Not another one!” she snarled, throwing her arms in the arm and walking away without a word. “God save us from David fucking Rossi!”

Kevin shook himself, feeling lighter than he had in months, and headed for the exit.

This was it. The beginning of the rest of his life!

“Excuse me?” called a delivery man holding a bulky package. “Could you point me in the direction of Aaron Hotchner’s trailer?” He smiled, and the hair on the back of Kevin’s neck stood on end.

“Of course, that one there,” Kevin said, pointing back and half thinking of dropping in on Penelope before he left. What better way to celebrate his rebirth?

“Thank you,” the man said, turning to stride towards the trailer. Kevin watched him go absently, reading the logo emblazoned across the back of his shirt. _Foyet Deliveries – You should take our deals!_

Then Kevin was at the gate and the day was over. There was no fanfare as he walked out of the gate, even though he knew he was a changed man. Some days were like that.

Sometimes the day just ended.

**Author's Note:**

> **Edited August, 2017.**


End file.
